


The Rise of Darth Calamity

by Dont_call_me_Carrie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alternate Universe - Ben Solo Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Ben Organa, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Don't copy to another site, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Force Visions, Gen, Misunderstandings, Road Trip from Hell, Shatterpoints, Smuggler Ben Solo, That's Not How The Force Works, some KOTOR references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18026072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_call_me_Carrie/pseuds/Dont_call_me_Carrie
Summary: For a single, fateful second, Ben can’t help but but think, ’He was right. Ishouldfight.’ His lightsaber’s within reach; it’d be so, so easy— to light it, to strike, to give into the panic that’s flooding in at the sight of the green lightsaber held aloft.For a heartbeat, despite everything, Ben can’t help but consider it. Then he remembers the nightmares—of flashes of red and the echoes of screams, of people looking at him infear— and he makes a different choice.It’s going to take far, far more than that to deter the will of the Force—but that’s not going to stop Ben from trying.





	1. Won't Cry For Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> Basic premise: I was very much Not A Fan of how elements of TLJ were handled. In this case, I'm taking That Scene [ _you know, the Big Dramatic Reveal on Ahch-To? Yep. That one_ ], and flipping the entire situation on its head. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~aka the one where Ben's got shatterpoints to deal with and takes more after his grandmother, Padmé Amidala~~
> 
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>  **General fic warnings:** Unreliable narrator [ _because everyone's got their own biases in their POV, e.g. they're going to notice different things and the way it comes across in their worldview's going to show_ ], canon-typical violence, mental health issues related to said canon-typical violence...basically, everything I've tagged for? Yeah, those are the long-running themes in this fic. Anything more specific than that's going to go in the notes before each chapter. 
> 
> This is my first foray into writing Star Wars, so if some of the wording's kinda weird, oops.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben Organa Solo hasn't had a good night's sleep in gods knows how long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** really hammering down on the miscommunication and unreliable narrator thing, here. There's a lot Ben's missing, and that he tends to keep to himself doesn't exactly help. Also, we're going wildly AU right from the start, and Ben's probably going to be very, very OOC.
> 
> Chapter title from Duran Duran's 'Ordinary World'.

 

Ben Organa Solo had been dealing with strange dreams for as long as he could remember. When he was younger, it hadn’t been as common— just brief flickers, moments of intense emotion, and echoes of whispers once every few months or so. 

A brief feeling of deja vu, the morning his father returned; recognizing the song a visiting friend of his mother’s was humming, even though he’d never heard it before. Nothing much, nothing major. Besides, everyone had strange dreams every once in a while, didn’t they?

It’s not like they’ve got more important things to do with their time, not when there’s rumors of a new threat on the horizon and all the work that comes with rebuilding the Republic. [ _Oh, wait, it’s the New Republic now, right._ ] Ben didn’t need to distract his family from it, not when he saw firsthand just how exhausting it was for his mother to deal with politicians and the way his father scrubbed his hand over his face but still mustered enough energy for a smile after a long day was telling enough for him. Not to mention Uncle Luke, who was busy on missions saving the galaxy and apparently researching something about an Academy.

 

No, his family was busy enough as it was, no need to worry them about something trivial.

 

So Ben put it out of his mind, and carried on pestering his mother for stories whenever she had the time and trying to learn Shyriiwook for Chewbacca and learning how to pilot a ship with his father and just trying to help however he can.

He’s especially interested in the stories his mother has about Alderaan, but he knows to not ask too often because she feels especially sad when she talks about them. But when she’s in a good mood and things are going really well with her work, sometimes she’ll pull him in and tell him more. 

About the Clone Wars, and the rise of the Empire, and the birth of the Delegation of 2000. About Operation Knightfall, and the origins of the Rebel Alliance— everything his mother remembered hearing, some of it not recorded because between the Empire’s censorship and the archives lost with the destruction of the University of Alderaan, there’s plenty of stories Ben knows he wouldn’t have found in any history book otherwise.

His favorite stories are the ones with his grandfather, but he’s careful when asking because his mother’s voice goes soft with old pain sometimes, when she talks about Bail Organa.

Ben understood, though: he’d never had the chance to meet his grandfather, and the day he first heard the full story of the destruction of Alderaan was quite possibly also the first day he knew true _hate._ [ _Not really, of course— but even years later, Ben can’t quite put words to the smoldering kernel of quiet grief and_ ** _rage_** _because of just what was lost._ ]

 Even if he’d never met the man, Ben couldn’t quite help but latch onto him: Bail Organa had been a constant presence in just about every story he’d heard, just as much of figurehead for the Rebel Alliance as Padme Amidala and Mon Mothma.

His mother didn’t talk about him very much, but that just meant Ben spent a good chunk of his childhood improving his slicing skills because even if the _good_ stories weren’t written down, there were still plenty of records of Bail Organa on the HoloNet and if anyone thought he was about to let go of the opportunity to read about his grandfather’s adventures with the Jedi, then they had another thing coming.

And that’s how Ben learns about Bail Organa, paragon of justice and quiet strength, one of the founders of the Rebel Alliance, and quite possibly the only person he hero-worshipped even more than Uncle Luke.

Not to say he didn’t respect anyone else, of course— Ben also regularly tried to hunt down stories about his namesake, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and his fascination with the stories of the Jedi was almost embarrassingly well-known, no matter what base they were at— but. It’s just that time after time, no matter what, Ben found himself always turning back towards the datapad he had on his grandfather. 

 

Besides, those stories helped distract him from the way his parents were getting too busy for him, not to mention the dreams that were getting stranger with every day that passed. 

 

The older he gets, however, the more intense it becomes.

  

It’s not just a feeling of deja vu, anymore; his dreams feature faces he’s only ever seen in holos about the Republic, or things that _haven’t even happened yet,_ and that…Ben’s at a loss as to how to handle. The faint whispers become full-blown arguments between people he’s never _met,_ and he’s not just getting brief flickers anymore; he’s seeing things that he _knows_ are real, even if he’s not sure just where this bone-deep certainty comes from.

And sometimes, it **_terrifies_** him.

Because his nightmares are more frequent, now, and they’re far less benign than they used to be. Now, he’s seeing things that he shouldn’t have known about, like the First Order’s latest raid, or a brief fragment of conversation between two long-dead Jedi, or the way he just _knew_ that there wouldn’t be a visitor coming because it’d been raining that morning, because the sun had been out in his dream.

Speaking of which—his parents are getting worried by how he’s acting sometimes, but what’s he supposed to say? “Oh, I have strange dreams that only sometimes turn out to be real and it’s kind of hard to be optimistic when you see what could have been?”

Uncle Luke says he’s strong in the Force, that’s probably it.

Hopefully, he’ll be able to help; Ben’s heard his family talking about a Jedi Academy enough to figure out what’s going on, anyway. It’d been a bit of a surprise, mind, but if it meant getting a grip on…whatever this was [ ~~ _if the training was anything like he’d glimpsed in his dreams_~~ ] then he wasn’t about to complain. So that should take care of that, hopefully, and he’d become a Jedi and make his parents proud by fighting the First Order and the strange dreams would finally stop after he got a handle on them.

 

 

…and then the voice showed up.

 

  

Truth be told, it hadn’t felt like a big deal; his strange dreams had featured countless whispers in his ear, after all, so this was nothing new. Especially because this was a quiet, barely-audible susurrus of a voice, soft like the hiss of scales on dead leaves— if anything, it was quieter than what he’d been dealing with in the past days.

Ben would have just brushed it aside and deemed it a non-issue, if it weren’t for the fact that he’d gotten the worst nightmare he’d ever had, that very same night.

One worse than all the raids and fights he’s ever seen before, **combined,** that had him waking up in cold sweat and a strangled scream.

One that left him shaken the next day, unable to get it out of his head [ ~~ _flashes of red and desperation and_ ** _rage_** _, of “Henceforth you shall be known as Darth…Vader” and standing over small corpses in a hallway he’s never seen before, of a void in the Force, of—_~~ ] no matter what he did.

…well, if that wasn’t a warning sign, Ben didn’t know what was.

  

So when the voice spoke, he did his best to not listen. When the voice got louder, as time went on, Ben did his best to push it away. It helped that said voice turned out to be full of poodoo, because by the time he was 13, Ben knew full well the little bastard was doing nothing but ranting First Order propaganda and like _hell_ he was going to listen to that kark.

…even if that damn voice _refused to_ ** _shut up._**

Oh, it’d _started out_ fairly benign, sure. If Ben hadn’t known better, he might have even called it his imaginary friend, simply because it sometimes felt like the voice was the only being that cared about him in a way that wasn’t an afterthought. His parents and Chewbacca were always busy with the New Republic, Uncle Luke could only stop by every so often with his efforts as well, and…well.

It got lonely on the base, sometimes. Especially because Ben couldn’t help but think that almost everyone else near his age was incredibly childish [ _even if he_ ** _knew_** _it wasn’t their fault he got nightmares of faraway battles on a regular basis—anyway_ ]. Point was, he could’ve easily imagined that voice to have been a friend, a sympathetic ear to his feeling left behind sometimes, someone he could turn to for advice if his family wasn’t around, but.

 While the nightmares weren’t quite as bad as that first time, they hadn’t exactly let up, either.

And…before, Ben’s strange dreams had been very scattershot, in what he saw. Now, however, was another thing entirely.

Where before he’d gotten brief flickers of visions, now Ben was seeing entire encounters. Not only that, but more often than not, he _recognized_ the faces if not the voices—because now, for whatever reason, his strange dreams seemed to have fixated on the fall of the Jedi.

Almost every night now, Ben closed his eyes and had as many odds of seeing the Ryloth campaign as he was to see General Plo Koon training with his men, or Supreme Chancellor Palpatine talking with Senator Amidala—and if that had been it, Ben would’ve been somewhat okay with it. If all he saw was the Battle of Geonosis or Christophsis, Ben would’ve been sobered but at least slightly appreciative of getting even a glimpse of what the Jedi were like, before Uncle Luke.

But. That wasn’t it.

Because to date, the most constant recurring dream Ben had was of the origins of Darth Vader. Time and time again, he closed his eyes and could only watch as a young man knelt before the once-Emperor, before going on to massacre younglings and hunt down the remaining Jedi. It was that very sight [ _seeing what started it all, hearing velvet words no one would have expected as the start of a reign of terror_ ] that had Ben realizing what was going on in his own life.

 

So after that first nightmare, he’d brushed off the voice’s suggestions, no matter how sensible they sounded. Sure, it also meant he sometimes felt lonelier than ever, because he was apparently acting even weirder than before, but Ben preferred that over…the alternative. [ ~~ _He wasn’t going to be risk it._~~ ]

The voice got louder, as time went on. More insistent. Didn’t matter, Ben ignored it all the same and threw himself into improving his slicing skills, into piloting, even copying some of what he’d seen in his kinder dreams—whatever was at hand that the could distract himself with. [ _Apparently he was a dab hand at robotics, who knew?_ ]

Sometimes it helped, sometimes it didn’t. Especially after the voice figured out what Ben was trying to do, and proceeded to not give him a second of peace while he was awake. The only silver lining was that apparently it couldn’t see what he was seeing, or hear what he heard. 

…it wasn’t much of one.

Had Ben been an optimist, he might have thought about approaching Uncle Luke for help, before the voice showed up. [ _He wasn’t._ ]

Besides, compared to what his family was dealing with? Trying to rebuild an entire Jedi Order, fighting the complacency that let the First Order get a foothold in the first place, trying to keep history from repeating itself? Compared to that, Ben suddenly hearing one more voice than before wasn’t anything special, he could deal.

He **_could._**

Even if it ate at his patience, sometimes, and less than a few weeks in he found himself nicknaming the biggest irritant in his life ‘that little bastard’ because that damn thing _refused to shut up._

But it’s fine, Ben could deal.

It’s just— some days, the little bastard was harder to ignore than others. Like when his father stormed out after yet another fight, or his mother snapped at everyone before diving into even more work because there’d been word of yet another raid. Or when he was reminded of how hard it was for him to deal with people, to the point where his closest friend that wasn’t Chewbacca or R2 was probably Kes Dameron’s kid, who Ben didn’t even see that often. 

But he ignored the little bastard all the same. He’d only heard a voice like it in his nightmares, Ben wasn’t about to risk it. [ ~~ _He wasn’t going to be like Vader. He_ ** _wasn’t._**~~ ]

The looks he got around the base sometimes were hard enough as it was. It didn’t happen very often, but Ben wasn’t stupid: he _noticed_ the glances he got sometimes, when he was feeling **_especially_** frustrated because he’d had that dream again and the little bastard _refused to shut up._

It was fine. [ _ ~~No, it wasn’t~~._]

So his people skills weren’t the best, so what? So what if he didn’t make small talk [ _because he didn’t know_ ** _how_** ], so what if he thought everyone his age was incredibly childish and the closest thing he could do to bond with them was talk about droids and ships?

…even if it wasn’t fine, Ben _refused_ to break.

Even [ _especially_ ] if sometimes, the little bastard’s voice felt more like a constant than his family, when he noticed them giving him the same glances some of the other adults did, on the really hard days. [ ~~ _Those looks are what made them the hard days._~~ ]

It hurt, knowing his parents didn’t trust him. But he could fix it. He was Ben Organa Solo, son of Leia Organa and Han Solo, grandson to Bail and Breha Organa— it would take far more than that to break him. Once he became a Jedi and stopped the nightmares and fought First Order, Ben could prove everyone’s fears wrong, and make them proud.

He **_could._**

 

 

 

What Ben doesn’t know is: when his parents look at him, during those hard times, they’re not seeing their son. They’re seeing a very powerful, very volatile, dark-haired young man lashing out.

They’re already seeing history repeating itself in the world around them, is the thing.

It’s just—no matter how hard they try, they can’t keep a tiny tendril of _fear_ from working its way into their hearts, because…well, Darth Vader’s legacy casts a large shadow.

It’s not Ben’s fault, really, that Snoke’s connection has been slowly tainting his Force signature, darkening it with every day that passes. But by the time the truth will have come to light, by the time they’ve noticed the rift and the damage done, it will have been far too late for those almosts and could have beens to be anything more than dust in the wind, regrets of far too little done far too late.

 

 

 

…and then his parents sent him to his uncle to be trained as a Jedi, and things were never quite the same.

 

 

 

He had to look on the bright side, he’d be training with Uncle Luke! [ ~~ _He_ ** _had_** _to, otherwise he’d break._~~ ]

And, just before boarding the ship that would take him away, a warm hug. Which…Ben couldn’t help but feel he was just a tad too old for, to be honest. Especially since he was going to be a Jedi, and make his family proud.

 

 

 

If Ben had known this would be the last time in over a decade that he’d see his parents, maybe he would’ve handled things differently. Maybe he would’ve hugged back harder, maybe he would’ve never let go. Maybe.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have changed a thing, and simply given them a small smile when let go and walked away without looking back. Who knows.

 

 

 

 

The Jedi Academy turned out to be…not what Ben had expected.

 

On the plus side, he got to know Uncle Luke a lot better, which was great. Ben hadn’t gotten to meet him more than a handful of times as a child, after all, since the man was busy between his work with the Rebellion-turned-Resistance and his duties as the last of the Jedi. That Uncle Luke really was a good man only cemented his hero-worship, too, and the stories he was willing to share was only the icing on the cake.

But there were still downsides to going to the Jedi Academy.

For one, everyone there had eyes on him, because being the only son of two war heroes tended to do that. Which, alone, would’ve been stressful enough, but between that, his nightmares, the little bastard’s ranting, and his own poor social skills?

Making friends was downright impossible, for Ben. He’d always gotten along better with droids than with people, but right now everyone who was remotely near his age either looked at him in fear or envy and he did **_not_** appreciate it.

There was a silver lining to be found in this, however: nobody at the Jedi Academy could say Ben didn’t neglect his training.

Quite the opposite, in fact, and if Ben ever started to feel offended at some of the rumors circulating, then that just meant he could work his frustration out by training even more. Someone thought he was an arrogant sod who thought he felt he was superior to everyone else? Head off to train. Someone thought he wanted to show off? Time to meditate again. That little bastard spouting off First Order propaganda for the thousandth time? Time to practice that last lightsaber form while blindfolded, until he was so exhausted he didn’t dream when he collapsed into his bedroll.

While the other students made friends, and chatted in their free time, Ben headed off on his own. The few times Uncle Luke had asked about it, he’d just smiled and waved it off as “I just want to make sure I learn control” and since apparently his Force presence was remarkably strong, that had been that. It wasn’t even a lie.

And if, while on his own, Ben decided to try some of what he’d seen in his dreams, or pull out his datapad and read up on the stories of the Rebel Alliance, so what? It wasn’t like he was going to hurt anyone. [ _So what if he gravitated to the stories with Bail Organa, on bad days? So what if he brushed his fingers over the familiar lines that made up Mace Windu’s description of Vapaad, on the rare good days?_ ]

 

 

Time passes quickly in this manner, as he dives into training. It’s everything Ben could’ve dreamed: a family member wholly invested in his improving himself, and proud of him when he succeeds. The few times he holocalls his parents, they seem proud, and he’s well on his way to becoming a Jedi— he’s the strongest student at the Academy, and thanks to a lifetime of seeing Generals at work, and his own research, he has a good head for tactics.

 

On the surface, everything is perfect.

 

Under it, however, was a festering unease in the Force.

 

For one, the little bastard had even more ammunition in his rants, and the worst part is? Ben couldn’t even fault him for some of it. Because he could feel his fellow students’ disdain, and the only solace he had was in knowing that at least Uncle Luke knew better. He didn’t know what was wrong with him [ ~~ _because it_ ** _had_** _to be him, because his parents’ distrust was centered on him and it_ ** _hurt_**~~ ], and he suspected his nightmares to be part of why [ ~~ _but he didn’t get it either_~~ ]— and as if that wasn’t enough, his nightmares have, somehow, gotten even worse.

As in, Ben used to have nightmares about the Clone Wars on a semiregular basis. Now, however, his worst nightmare had shifted. Where before, it’d been of the rise of Darth Vader [ ~~ _of flashes of red and desperation and_ ** _rage_** _—_~~ ], he didn’t dream of a ransacked Jedi Temple anymore.

No, instead, every time he closed his eyes, he risked seeing— [ ~~ _the Jedi Academy being attacked by the First Order, the echoes of screams and cold laughter and blasterfire, the bodies of fellow students at his feet—_~~ ] himself.

 

Ben had known he had great potential. He’d known it before that damned voice had tried to convince him of a ‘path to greatness’, back when Uncle Luke had told him he was strong in the Force and his dreams had started to show him fragments of possible realities. It’d scared him then, and it scared him now, because…unlike what his nightmares tried to tell him, he wasn’t going to be like Vader. He **_wasn’t._**

Even if the little bastard tried to make alluring promises about power and following in his grandfather’s footsteps [ _which…what even. Bail Organa’s power had been in his words, in his drive for peace,_ ** _everyone_** _knew that_ ], even if Ben couldn’t help but pickup on the dubious glances thrown at his back, and his temper shortened with every terror-filled night and stress-filled day…he gritted his teeth, and did his best to keep it together. To not break, to not snap. He was going to do his family proud, and be the best damn Jedi there ever was, or die trying.

 

He could do it.

 

Even if just getting out bed got harder with every week that passed, as the weight of everyone’s expectations bore down on his shoulders increased, he could do it. As long as someone believed in him, Ben could pull through [ _even if it_ ** _stung,_** _that it wasn’t his parents— but it’s fine. Uncle Luke was family, too_ ].

He just had to keep positive, just had to cling to that last shred of hope. All he had to do was get a handle on whatever it was that was responsible for his nightmares, then he’d be set.

Just keep positive, Uncle Luke had mentioned he was nearly a prodigy with the other Force things, he was on the right track to getting a handle on this thing too.

 

Only, the more time went on the more jarring the nightmares got, the more intense and realistic, but—Uncle Luke would _never_ do that [ ~~ _would he?_~~ ].

No. That would never happen. [ _ ~~It would break him, Ben just~~_ ~~ ** _knew_** _it._~~ ]

 

So, once again, Ben focused even more on his training. On working his stress out, on trying to mediate away his worries. The latter was impossible to do when he had the little bastard as an audience, but it never hurt to try anyway.

His training was paying off, really: he had the power and control of any five other students combined, he was the uncontested top duelist of the Academy, and the little bastard had _finally_ started to quiet down.

Sure, Ben barely knew the names of everyone else at the Academy. Sure, the looks of fear and envy hadn’t abated, and his fellow students only included him when they were being taught, or meals. Sure, the holocalls from his parents were getting fewer and further between, because tensions were growing even more.

But. He was well on his way to being a Jedi, to living up to the family legacy, and he wasn’t about to let the little bastard or his nightmares get in the way.

He _wasn’t._

 

 

…and then one of the foundations of his identity got torn to shreds, right before his eyes, and things only went downhill from there.

 

 

 

Maybe, in another life, Ben would have learned about his ancestry, and revered his grandfather.

Here, however, when Ben learned about his relation to a Sith Lord, he resolved to never be like him. _Ever._

 

 

 

Specifically: the day Ben learned who his birth grandfather was [ _because he had to learn about his relation to_ ** _Darth Vader_** _not from his family, but from a little bastard that sounded like a mix between the textbook definition of intrusive thoughts and First Order propaganda_ ], he…didn’t exactly take it well.

[ ~~ _Ha. Talk about understatements_.~~]

He’d thought it was a horribly cruel joke, at first. Something par for course, coming from the little bastard, but to be dismissed in the end alongside the propaganda he spouted.

When his fellow students made some remarks to that effect, not long afterwards, however?

Um. 

Okay, in retrospect, Ben _might_ have gone a bit overboard, he’d be the first to admit it. Just a tad, though, and he’d known his lightsaber had been at its lowest setting before he’d lunged at the ringleader of the group, so really it wasn’t something he regretted overly much. Besides, anyone that insulted his parents like that was asking for a fight, there was _no way_ Ben was going to take the “so your mother is Darth Vader’s spawn” lying down.

Only Uncle Luke’s arm had kept him from brawling with the son of a bantha, and the stern yet disappointed gaze that accompanied it only made Ben scowl all the fiercer before he powered down his lightsaber.

The following diatribe on self-control and “not the Jedi way”, however, was what pushed Ben over his limit, and he didn’t bother apologizing, or waiting for the obviously-false apology that would he would’ve gotten had Uncle Luke finished— he just stormed out.

Stormed out, and ignored every last instinct that rankled at the injustice, at the way Uncle Luke hadn’t even heard his side of the story…at the way he questioned his resolve to ignore the little bastard, because the damn voice in his head was the only one even remotely sympathetic to his situation. [ _Oh, gods._ ]

It hurt.

It hurt on a level Ben couldn’t even _begin_ to quantify, and suddenly, he needed the solitude, as the realization and its implications finally hit home. Because otherwise? If he had to face everyone’s sneers and prying eyes, as he was right now? Caught off-guard, alone and untethered?

No,he needed to be alone, to process his feelings. Just him, and the biting wind and the spray of water stinging his hands, just him and his lightsaber and the Force, with no one to judge him if his control slipped even a little and—Ben threw himself into what he’d managed to piece together of Vapaad, as he worked through what he was feeling.

Just.

Great. Just kriffing great.

Like he didn’t have enough on his plate, between his nightmares and the little bastard. Like he didn’t struggle to deal with people to the point where his closest friend that wasn’t Chewbacca or R2 was probably the Dameron kid, who probably only bothered to talk to him out of pity. No, it wasn’t enough that he heard voices, _now_ it turned out he wasn’t even related to Bail Organa.

No, of course not. Of course Ben had to be related to the fragging _Sith Lord_ that he saw in his nightmares, _of kriffing course._

…no. He _refused_ to accept that. Bail Organa was his grandfather, he’d fight anyone that said otherwise, so there.

Sure, it was a bit immature. Ben didn’t care.

He was Ben Organa Solo, son of Leia Organa and Han Solo, grandson of Bail and Breha Organa— it was one of the cornerstones of his identity, the knowledge of which was probably one of the only things that kept him _sane._

He could deal with his parents’ distrust, and bear the fear and envy of the fellow students. Could deal with a lifetime of strange dreams and nightmares, could even put up with that damn bastard ranting in his head for years. But this? 

If Ben admitted it, accepted the truth of it—that one of the cornerstones that had served to anchor him was built on pillars of salt and sand, and the blood of innocents— then that might very well **_break_** him.

 

It’s not until that moment, as he made his new resolution, that Ben noticed the silence. And that, somehow, he had finally managed to complete the form.

He still hurt, of course— but. The grief and rage weren’t as raw anymore, the agony and shock of the discovery now banked embers instead of a roaring flame.

It would have to do.

It would need to be enough to ground him, now that he was returning to the Rancor’s den.

 

Ben held his head high, when he returned. Uncle Luke eyed him even more sternly that before, but he didn’t let himself balk, just apologized stiffly to the now smug-looking little nerfherder, and marched back out.

He didn’t miss the looks the others were giving him, now. He didn’t look back.

He was going to be a Jedi, or die trying. 

 

 

What Ben didn’t see was his uncle's concern, or the missed comm calls from his parents when he collapsed into bed, exhausted. What Ben didn’t notice was the way the others felt his Force presence darken with every day that passed, blissfully unaware of what Snoke’s connection did to him no matter how much he resisted.

Nobody bothered to ask, bothered to break the silence— and because of that, a child was lost.

 

 

 

Things came to a head, not long after.

[ _Ha. Talk about understatements_.]

 

 

Ben had experienced the nightmare so often it was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, now. Of seeing Uncle Luke ready to kill him, of giving into the rage and massacring everyone at the Academy, much like—well. [ _He wasn’t going to be like Vader. He_ ** _wasn’t._** ]

He’d seen it for years, now. Each time left him as shaken and breathless as the last, and only shortened his temper even as it cemented his resolution. He refused to break, could deal with anything the galaxy threw his way so long as someone believed in him.

 

 

So when, one night, Ben wakes up to the sight of Uncle Luke standing over his bed, green lightsaber in hand and ready to strike?

It breaks his heart. Because everything else, he could bear— but seeing the last of his family turn his back on him like this was…was…

Uncle Luke wanted to kill him. The one man he’d hero-worshipped [ ~~ _almost as long as grandfather_~~ ], thought he was irredeemable. Him.

_Him,_ when the man had once extended a hand to Darth Vader himself.[ ~~ _What did he do wrong?!_~~ ]

 

 

For a single, fateful second, Ben can’t help but think back to the years’ worth of the little bastard’s rants. Can’t help but think, ’He was right. I _should_ fight.’ His lightsaber’s within reach; it’d be so, so easy— to light it, to strike, to give into the panic that’s flooding in at the sight of his nightmare in the living world.

For a heartbeat, despite everything, Ben can’t help but consider it. Then he remembers the nightmares—of flashes of red and the echoes of screams, of people looking at him in _fear_ — and he makes a different choice.

 

 

It’s not until much, much later, that Ben will realize just what happened, that night.

In the heat of the moment, however, he’s just going by basic instinct, doing whatever feels right. All he knows is, in his panic, something suddenly _clicked_ in his head, and—everything near him **_shattered,_** as he shoved Uncle— no, _Master_ Luke Skywalker away as hard as he could.

The screech of metal and the dull crunch of stone, and all Ben could think was—he had to run.

He’s in full-blown panic mode, when he sweeps everything he can into the knapsack by his bed, not bothering to check for usefulness, just keeping a desperate ear out for the footsteps that would mark his doom. He’s scrambling to keep everything together, as he’s sprinting barefoot over broken rocks and soft grass, not bothering to even try and explain to the students already waking up and racing to investigate.

He’s so, very, grateful for his training, as he indiscriminately Force-shoves everyone in his way, as they see the ruined building and try to stop him. He can’t— he can’t risk explaining, not when it’d just be a waste of time [ _not when they never trusted him to begin with_ ].

Ben has to run.

So he does. Races to where Unc— _Master_ Luke Skywalker’s ship was sitting, closer than the other ones, scrambled into the cockpit and fired up the engines just like he’d learned from his father, and lifts off just as he can feel the painfully familiar Force signature sprinting to his direction.

 

Ben runs, and doesn’t look back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That happened. Buckle down, everyone, because we're only getting more AU from here on out, and it's not going to stop anytime soon. Don't worry, things'll get better for Ben. ~~Eventually.~~ No, but seriously this AU's actually going to be lighter than canon, honest.


	2. Just A Little Sorrowed Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You win some, you lose some. 
> 
> May the Fourth be with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** general fic warnings [ _unreliable narrator, miscommunication, Ben as basically an OC, etc._ ] with an emphasis on miscommunication, mental health issues, and Ben's obliviousness affecting his worldview. 
> 
> Still kind of a serious chapter, but up next is the start of the crack-taken-seriously Road Trip From Hell part of the story, so...there's that?
> 
> Also, here's the main KOTOR reference that will be a running theme in this fic.
> 
> Also also: please note I named this AU long before the new movie's title came out. _There is absolutely no relation to the upcoming Episode IX,_ if there is it's 100% coincidence.

Ben Organa Solo wanted to sleep. Wanted to pretend the events of the past few hours were only a bad dream, wanted to pretend he wasn’t living a nightmare, _wanted—_

Well. 

That didn’t matter anymore, did it. 

He wanted to stop somewhere, but between his Force signature and his—Wait. 

No, wait. 

Ben took a moment, just to listen, and… 

Silence.

Silence, after a lifetime of whispers and voices and _when had the voice in his head stopped?_  

It was—this was too much. Ben needed to land. _Now._

He punched in a set of coordinates that felt right but otherwise didn’t think too much about [ _had he seen them in a dream? In his research? He didn’t care anymore, as long as it was far from_ ** _here_** ], and in what felt like the blink of an eye, touched down on some nameless planet that was far, far from the Jedi Academy.

 

 

 

Then, and only then, does Ben let himself break down.

 

 

 

Scrambles out of the cockpit of his uncl— _Master Luke Skywalker’s_ ship, collapses to his knees, buries his face in his hands, and **_screams_** into the barren wasteland around him. Lets himself _feel_ the miasma of fear and fury that’d been building for years, and the hopelessness as the reality of his situation sets in, once the last of the shock’s worn off.

Oh, _gods._

All he’d ever wanted was to make them all proud, to become a Jedi, and— they wanted him dead. [ _His biological grandfather was Darth Vader, his favorite uncle_ ** _had tried to kill him_** _._ ~~ _Oh, Force, why?!_~~ ]

The Resistance didn’t trust him, starting with his family. Would probably try to help his un— _Master Skywalker_ , once word got out. [ ~~ _What had he done wrong?!_~~ ]

The First Order, of course, would love to have him. [ _Ha. He’d die before he let them._ ] On the other hand, the little bastard was finally gone, but…right now, in light of everything else, it was a cold comfort.

Ben was alone.

 

 

Ben didn’t know how long he spent, curled into himself in the shadow of his—stolen ship. It might’ve been days, or hours, or even minutes, just spent grieving for hopes and dreams that would never be, for a life never lived.

But he was also nothing if not practical, and time marched on. [ _But oh gods, did it hurt._ ]

He took a deep breath, and let it out. Then another, and another. Ben had never been able to mediate like Jedi were supposed to, not when he’d had an audience for it. He’d never figured out how to ‘release his feelings into the Force’ the way the others had, so he’d taught himself to sort through them instead. Take the bull by its horns, so to speak: far more direct and painful, but at least it was over with faster.

He’d done it before, this was no different. Really.

 

Right.

Another deep breath, let it out.

Okay.

He was alone.

He was alone, but he could do this. If his grandfather and his namesake could face down an Empire, then he could do this. He wasn’t a Prince [ ~~ _almost could have been, had Alderaan still existed_~~ ], nor a Jedi [ ~~ _so close, he’d tried so so hard_~~ ], but he could do this, **_damn it all._**  

It hurt, but…he wouldn’t let this break him. Even if it’d be so, so _easy,_ to let himself slip and subsume his fear into fury, give him some semblance of control and **_power_** even if it wasn’t the Jedi way—but he refused.

That way lay darkness, that was the path that would lead him straight to the First Order. Even if he was drowning in— grief and betrayal and hurt, he refused to Fall. _Refused_ to give the Force another pawn, even if only out of sheer _spite._

[ _He wasn’t going to become the monster in his nightmares. He_ ** _wasn’t._** ]

 

Deep breath, and let it out. 

Okay. Right.

  

Ben was— _had been_ the top student, back at the Jedi Academy. Even if he was alone now, [ ~~ _rejected by everyone he’d cared for and trusted, never to be a Jedi—_~~ _no, don’t think about it_ ] he could figure something out.

Okay.

The entire situation still felt surreal, but…everything he’d ever found in his research from the fall of the Jedi, every last shred of trivia about the Rebellion and odd factoid he’d stumbled over concerning Operation Knightfall— would probably prove to be useful [ _even if he bit back nausea at the comparison because he was no Jedi, he was just an idiot with_ ** _stupidly_** _naive dreams and— no, stop_ ].

Okay.

Ben could do this.

His family wanted him dead, so he had to go to ground. The Resistance would undoubtedly help them, so he had to avoid them, and the little bastard’s rants toward the end had also led him to the conclusion that the First Order would be gunning for him as well, so he had to steer clear of _them_ as well— but he could do this.

Really.

 

 

First off: he’d have to give up every last shred of his past life, to hide.

The idea had seemed alien, when he’d read about it when researching Jedi in hiding. Funny, how things changed.

 

Ben Organa Solo was the son of Leia Organa and Han Solo, grandson of Darth Vader, [ ~~ _nephew of the last Jedi and_ ** _stars_** _the reminder hurt_~~ ], and his living family had only ever brought him pain, one way or another.

[ _He was better off without them, really._ ] 

All Ben had to do was cut his ties to his past, and avoid them in the future, and he’d be set.

[ _Ha. As if it was as easy as it sounded._ ]

 

 

Okay, taking a step back: what did he need, and what was he willing to sacrifice, for his new life?

 [ _His family had been his world, his dreams had been his future._ ]

 

He had to keep moving, to avoid rumors. His father had been a spacer, Ben had heard more than one story about his misadventures back when [ ~~ _his parents had still trusted him_~~ ] he was a child, it didn’t sound particularly pleasant but it would work, so.

 

He had to keep a low profile— that was a easy one. He didn’t feel up to making waves, and he’d learned how to go unnoticed on Resistance bases. As long as he wasn’t making huge, flashy, dramatic gestures, he shouldn’t be remembered. [ _His life depended on it._ ]

 

He had to avoid using the Force.

…that one would be tricky.

Especially since u— Master Luke Skywalker had mentioned how strong he was, on multiple occasions. Ben tried to be self-restrained, and all his training had paid off with the control he’d been known for, but that didn’t hide the fact that he was apparently a powerhouse that blazed in the Force if his shields ever failed. And said shields _did_ fall, whenever he lost focus— say,when he was trying an especially complex maneuver, or in the middle of a particularly intense sparring match.

Speaking of which…everyone knew that lightsabers meant Jedi, meant rumors, so he’d have to stick to blasters unless absolutely necessary. Simple enough, his mother had taught him how to shoot.

Yes, it was doable.

Hopefully, life as a spacer would help. He’d just…become another nameless wanderer, just another set of hands on a ship. [ _The idea sounded more appealing by the minute._ ] 

He’d definitely need a change of clothes, at the very least. A blaster. Probably a mask, too, because the Resistance knew his face. Might as well make an full inventory, see what he had to work with now that…now that he could never go home again.

But the sun on this planet was setting, and that could wait until tomorrow.

Tomorrow he scrounge around to see what he could find, because there had to be _something_ useful in the ruins he could see even now in the horizon.

Tomorrow, he could make plans. Completely doable, for him. Especially since there wasn’t a little bastard to hold him back, anymore, and that was a reprieve he had once only ever dreamt of, so _really_ it could be worse. Even if it didn’t feel like it right now, it could be worse.

Right.

Ben took another deep breath, and squared his shoulders.

It hadn’t been a full day since he’d woken up, but the bone-deep exhaustion was hard to resist, and…the idea of sleep was far too appealing, right now.

Making a campfire near the ship was something that didn’t take too much energy, and as he went about doing so, he couldn’t help but note the desolate landscape. Apart from the forest, he didn’t feel much life on the planet in the Force, and any animals has apparently been scared off by his arrival— but that could wait until tomorrow.

He was alone and exhausted, the big choices could wait until he was on a more even keel.

Tomorrow.

[ ~~ _He just wanted this day to end._~~ ]

 

  

Which is why Ben… _may_ have ** _slightly_** overreacted, when he felt yet another bodiless presence, just as he started to doze off by his campfire.

“Go back.” A tenor voice softly called out from the darkness, and Ben didn’t think, he just shot to his feet and _snarled._

“Are you _kriffing_ ** _kidding_** _me?_ ” He roared into the night, and suddenly it turned out that for all he’d vented his issues before, there were still plenty he’d had yet to voice until now. “Is it so **_damn_** hard to get you fuckers to _leave me alone?!_ ”

“Be—” Another voice started, but Ben plowed onwards.

“E chu ta! I karking _refuse,_  I told that other fragging bastard to kriff right off for years, **_NO._** ” He probably looked mad, if there was anyone around to see him, ranting to faceless people, but…no. That bastard had been enough, his day had been enough, he was at the end of his rope and he _refused_ to deal with more than what he already had at hand.

There was a moment of stillness, but even if he couldn’t see anyone nearby, he had a feeling they were still there. Even if he had no idea what they were up to, anymore, and after a moment he sank back to his seat, abruptly exhausted.

“ _Please._ Just. Leave me be, for once.”

A breeze stirred nearby leaves, and his campfire flickered for a moment.

Then, just like that, he was surrounded by nothing but silence once more. 

Ben scowled for another moment, and carefully stoked the flames. Then, that done, he gave another wary look around, before falling asleep again.

He didn’t dream.

 

  

 

Funny, how a good night’s sleep put things into perspective.

Granted, it didn’t do much for the crushing disappointment that came with the realization that the past day hadn’t been a nightmare, but beyond that?

In a twisted way…Ben felt better than he had in years.

The loneliness was a constant, pressing reminder, but at least there were no dirty looks or distrust to deal with. No worries of getting murdered in his sleep, no voices in his head trying to drive him insane. Not to mention the abrupt understanding of how his nightmares worked, and he’d have to figure out how to deal with a Force power he’d only read of later because Shatterpoint sounded like it could be useful. But that could wait.

Right now, it was just a matter of where to go from here.

Well, no. First things first, he’d planned on scavenging the ruins, right. He’d had a feeling there was something there that would come in handy, and given how he couldn’t feel any sapient being in range? Odds were, no one would mind. And then…he’d get to the rest. [ _One step at a time._ ]

 

  

The more Ben looked around, the more questions he had. 

Not that he planned on investigating, especially given…everything, but…what the _pfassk_ had happened here?

He didn’t know why these particular coordinates had felt right, just that they had. Now that he was here, though, the faded scorch marks and an eerie stillness were putting him on edge. Not to mention the strange feeling he was getting through the Force, when normally he could scarcely feel the difference between light and dark.

 

 

Something terrible had happened here, long ago.

 

 

Yet something else urged him onwards, and Ben didn’t even know _why._

The buildings had all long since crumbled, leaving little beyond the foundations of where they’d once stood. It was a living graveyard, a place frozen in time with nothing but shadows and ruins in sight. Every footstep and every breath echoed—he kept walking. [ _It wasn’t like he was in much of a hurry, after all._ ]

 

 

 

 

It’s almost noon when Ben finds the bundle, completely by accident.

As in, he’d been poking around a particularly shadowed and scorched ruin of a building [ _and starting to doubt if he really had been feeling anything_ ], when one of the steps crumbled under him.

That part, he’d already started to get used to, but the walls he’d accidentally destroyed because he was still coming to grips with his newly-awakened Shatterpoint ability was just _mortifying._ [ ~~ _Well. At least nobody was around to see his lapse in control._~~ ] 

Ben’s private alarm pushed back as he noticed something inside said wall, almost buried by the rubble. At a glance, it looked to be in far better condition than everything else he’d seen on the planet, and…was probably what he was looking for, considering the desolate remains of everything else.

So he carefully removed it from its hiding place, and returned to his makeshift camp where he’d be able to poke at it under better lighting.

The solitude was starting to get to him; where the walk to the ruins had been ominous enough, with just the sound of his footsteps, his return was accompanied by a strangely expectant silence. As if there was someone, or even multiple someones, watching him—even if he hadn’t felt anyone around.

 

 

By the time he reached his makeshift camp, Ben had long since made up his mind: no matter how shaken he still felt, this was the last day he was spending on this planet.

Then he’d be on the next leg of the journey that would…make up the rest of his life.

Right.

Ben took a deep breath, and shakily let it out. Time for an inventory, see what he had to work with, now that…now that he could never go home again.

Okay. He could do this.

Moving on.

Ben shook his head, trying to get right of the thoughts that threatened to drown him in grief [ ~~ _he loved his family, why?!_~~ ] and anger [ ~~ _whywhy_ ** _WHY_**~~ ], and did his best to focus on the task at hand.

 

Right. First things first.

He got a weird feeling when he looked at his lightsaber, and a quick disassembly showed him that _yep,_ the crystal had cracked sometime during…the fiasco. [ _Kriff. He’d have to deal with it later._ ] Other than that, though, his haul was pretty good for how panicked he’d been when getting it: his boots, a few keepsakes that he could sell for some credits in a pinch, a few days’ worth of rations. The datapad that had been lying by his bed. His comm.

Part of Ben wanted to go through the messages on it, one last time. It was flashing, so obviously someone had tried to reach him, and the yawning void threatened to open up once more as he held it in his hand because…he could count on one hand how many people could reach him on it.

Part of him wanted to reach out, to call for help, to plead to the universe and hope it had all just a misunderstanding, but…

Uncle Luke had tried to kill him. One of the people he’d respected the most, had trusted the most— had tried to kill him. Luke Skywalker had been the last of his family alive who’d believed in him wholeheartedly, when his own parents had cast him glances when they thought he didn’t notice, and…even that had been a lie, in the end. [ ~~ _All he’d ever wanted to do was make them proud._~~ ]

Ben palmed the comm, and for a single, painful moment, let himself entertain the notion that it was all just a misunderstanding. That he could come home, safe and sound. 

He couldn’t help the bitter laugh, at that. 

Then, with a moment of concentration to carefully focus his power, he pulverized the comm, and dusted his hands as he rose to his feet again. 

“Moving on,” he said into the silence around him, and ignored the way his throat felt tight, or his eyes itched.

As if to mock Ben, however, his datapad glinted in the afternoon sun.

The one where he’d compiled all the stories he could find about his grandfather and the notes he’d made about the Jedi, the one that had comforted him whenever he’d had a bad day.

[ ~~ _Funny, how things went. The only family that hadn’t disappointed him was long dead._~~ ] 

Part of Ben knew that he should destroy it— especially since he’d carried it with him almost more than he had his lightsaber. Everyone at the Academy had seen it with him, time and time again; it’d be a simple matter, to track it and find him. Even more so, since he’d long-since memorized nearly every line on it. It’d be easy to replace, if he so chose.

But. 

Of everything he’d taken with him, it was the least painful link to his past. Bail Organa was the man he’d hero-worshipped the most, even more so than—well. 

Bail Organa was safe, for him. Was the last of his family who he hadn’t failed, was quite possibly the last anchor he had to keep from Falling, because if he focused on the last of his heroes, then he didn’t have to think about the avalanche of fear and fury and grief and betrayal [ ~~ _a Jedi would have meditated it away. He was no Jedi_~~ ], and…Ben **refused** to become the monster in his nightmares. He’d avoided it before almost entirely out of spite, but this…this was something he could aspire towards.

[ _He’d do his grandfather proud._ ]

If his grandfather was able to become one of the pillars of the Rebellion, then Ben could follow in his footsteps. He might never become a Jedi, might never be an official member of the Resistance— but his grandfather had stood for justice.

His grandfather had stood for justice, and so would he.

Just like that, Ben felt something nearly snap into place, and he felt himself straighten up for the first time since he’d woken to a living nightmare. He was still in turmoil— it would probably take years, for him to be able to truly be at peace with everything that had happened— but.

Funny, just how much a sense of purpose could do.

Suddenly, he wasn’t just running from something, but _to_ something. It was vague, yes. But it was a far better sight than before.

Ben snapped out of his musings to notice his white-knuckled grip on his datapad, and he loosened it before the screen could crack. [ _He’d deal with later._ ]

Sorting through the rest of his belongings didn’t take long, even after he thoroughly searched the ship for anything else he could use. Getting it ready to put into a pack was simple.

  

And then there was the bundle.

  

Ben still didn’t know what had happened, on this strange, nameless planet. For all he knew, it could be dangerous— but the Force didn’t give any warning, so it couldn’t be, surely?

Hmm.

The expectant silence was finally broken by the rustle of cloth as he carefully picked it up once more, and opened it in the safety of his well-lit campsite, far from the living graveyard.

He didn’t recognize the insignia on faded banner, nor paid it any heed beyond that it was wrapped around something.

Something big, and bulky, and—was that a mask?

And robes. How convenient.

Both were clearly very, very old: the ruins he’d found them in were enough to attest to that. Not to mention the style— it was older than what he’d glimpsed in his memories, older than anything he’d seen in his research of the Empire, or the Republic.

Well. It was either this, or the robes he’d been sleeping in…

Ben set to cleaning it carefully, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the…armor(?) was in excellent condition, apart from the dust. He was slightly concerned by how dark it all was, because [ ~~ _he wasn’t going to be like Vader. He_ ** _wasn’t_**~~ ] of various reasons, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and all that.

Besides— the bracers had caught his attention. Bail Organa had once used them regularly, and…it was probably more than a bit ridiculous, but the idea of wearing some felt like a modicum of a connection between him and his grandfather. A tangible reminder of his new goal in life, an anchor. It couldn’t hurt, anyway.

So, without further ado, he put it on. 

It took a while, and there was quite a bit of fumbling with the clasps because this was _definitely_ armor and while useful it also meant _complicated—_ not to mention it was clearly meant for an adult, and there was no small amount of cursing when he’d tripped before noticing and adjusting for it because his last growth spurt had been embarrassingly late—but.

 

Once it was on, Ben felt like he could take on the world.

 

For being armor, it was remarkably flexible, and he had the sneaking suspicion that it was meant to stand up to lightsabers even if he didn’t dare test it. Plus…even if he had trouble feeling the difference between light and dark in the Force, it felt like it was helping him. 

He did a few experimental stances, walked around and packed up his camp as he got used to the weight. 

So far, so good.

All that was left now, was the mask.

Ben frowned slightly, as he looked down at it. He _needed_ one, for sure— his family, and by extension the entire Resistance, knew his face, there was nothing for it— and yet.

Even in the afternoon sun, and far from the ruins, he couldn’t help but think it looked _menacing_.

He couldn’t even quantify _why_ — the design was simple enough, a slightly-faded grey and red and slightly scuffed.He’d need to keep the hood up to remain fully concealed, but that was a paltry concern. By all rights, it shouldn’t have even come into question that he’d wear it, not when he was running for his life, but…well, no matter. The Force wasn’t giving him any warning, so it should be safe enough to use.

Anyone who had used it was clearly long dead, after all. No one should care.

Ben put it on, and felt a bit silly for the premonition he’d felt. [ _It was just a mask._ ]

He shrugged slightly, then carried on with his preparations to leave the planet. It was a matter of moments, to put his worldly possessions into a rucksack, and from there… 

First, off to Nar Shaddaa to sell the ship and muddy the trail, and then…he’d figure it out as he went along. Not smuggling, not when Han Solo was almost legendary for it, but…maybe bounty hunting? Or something. He’d have to think about it. 

 

As far as starting points went, it could be worse.

 

With that in mind, Ben fired up his stolen ship’s engines, and set off onto the next leg of his journey [ _onto the next steps of the rest of his life_ ].

A faded, tattered banner fluttered in his wake, lying among the ashes of his past.

 

 

 

 

Had Ben known more about Jedi lore, had been interested in more than just the recent past, he would have recognized it—as the Order of Revan.

The Order of Revan, acolytes of Darth Revan's teachings, who had used the Dark Side of the Force to preserve his belongings during the time of the Old Republic.

If Ben had known the **_mess_** that would arise from his picking up the first mask he found, he never would have done it.

 

Oops. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....aaand Ben's wearing Darth Revan's robes won't come back to bite him in the ass later on, nope, absolutely not, why would you even think that? Come on, it's just some guy from the Old Republic, no way is anyone going to notice the second coming of the Revanchist while the First Order are fighting the Resistance, nope, _not at all._

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment if you enjoyed this. That being said, if you're only going to criticize this, bash, and/or demand I write a character a certain way? Don't be surprised if I get snarky in replying, because this is my stress relief and the back button's _right there_ in the corner if this fic isn't your cup of tea.
> 
>  
> 
> This really, really shouldn't be more than, like, 10 chapters, I _mean_ it this time. Honest.


End file.
